He'd Be Pretty Proud
by Ich-Bin-Eine-Dame
Summary: Moments inspired or featuring Cole Porter songs. (Set in WW2, Present, 1960s) No sad scenes, although one is slightly dramatic, but it's all good, cute, and canon.


1. "I Concentrate On You"

"Did you know that the Steinways were German?", Alfred said with a slight grin on his face, gesturing to the piano in the middle of the shabby looking room. It was American war standard, Steinway pianos were given to all servicemen stations, for entertainment and morale reasons, obviously. The men _did_ enjoy it, which made both England and America happy.

"Well, the name does sound rather German." Arthur retorted, shifting the papers and files in his arms, most likely maps and battle plans that they would later take apart and examine.

Well, Arthur would.

Alfred liked to see things in the 'big picture' sense, like as if he were flying high above the sky in a Mustang or Spitfire. Arthur was more precise and exact, which was good since together they made a pretty good team. As allies, partners, Friends, Alfred thinks, he hopes, he really does, but... Not in a romantic sense- Not really. Arthur probably doesn't... But Alfred wouldn't mind. He'd really, really, _really_ like that. But war was war, and there was hardly time for a romantic move. It wasn't really _appropriate_ a lot of the time they were together.

"Steinways moved to New York way back. Originally they're German. It's kind of funny, don't you think?"Alfred said, tilting his head and sticking his hands in his pockets, sounding ridiculously nervous, "Since, you know, we're fighting the Germans but we play on their pianos..." His eyes trailed downwards, then lifted to look at Arthur's reaction.

Arthur did not look amused and merely shot him a stare with a stony expression, his head lowering slightly and his eyebrows raised a little.

"War is never funny, America. You should know that by now." He said quietly and shifted awkwardly, scratching his forehead, obviously trying to signal Alfred that the conversation was over. Alfred didn't want it to be over, though, so he continued.

"Can you play?"Alfred asked curiously in a sing-song kind of tone- he lengthened the 'can' comically. It amused Arthur, since it seemed oddly relaxed and honest. Alfred these days was more superficial, with obnoxious laughs and he bragged a lot, which Arthur found more than unfitting since Alfred knew that he was one of the only ones who could even have the chance or means to brag. And Alfred had those annoying, childish, optimistic ideas. Arthur hated the annoying and childish ones. But he- secretly, he'd never, ever admit this, why would he, Alfred probably hated him- liked the optimistic ones. They sort of gave him hope, that they would win the war. Arthur was far too old and honest to be blindly optimistic like Alfred. It was like Alfred was sunshine and Arthur was the moon, or Alfred was a hurricane and Arthur drizzle.

"The piano?"Arthur retorted and raised a hand from the papers to point at the piano.

"Yep." Alfred popped the 'p', which Arthur should have found annoying, but instead he saw himself thinking it was charming and endearing and other sappy romantic things that were very much unlike him.

"Well," Arthur started, "A little. I don't own one, not anymore at least, and I haven't played for a long time." He stared down and was a little embarrassed and murmured the last words.

"No worries! Come on, play with me! The men are all having lunch, and we don't have a meeting for a good 20 minutes. We deserve a break. I can teach you! I've played with Cole Porter." Alfred's eyes lit up and he looked at Arthur with a smile and gestured with a charming tilt of his head towards it.

"I...," Arthur started, "You won't leave me alone until I say yes, won't you? Even though we've really got to sort these papers out before tomorrow..." He trailed off and, again, he shifted his papers. He didn't have anything to do other than work, and he really didn't want to work when he could spend time with Alfred.

"You can count on it." Alfred said while laughing.

Arthur sighed and responded with an exhausted "Fine.", after which Alfred only laughed more. Arthur placed the papers on the top of the piano and sat down next to Alfred on the bench. It was small, and their thighs touched, making Alfred blush and his heart clench and his chest feeling too small.

After a small pause, Alfred stammered: "A-Aren't you going to take your gloves off?" He cursed himself for sounding more like a teenage boy and less like a heroic hero, ready to woo Arthur with his musical skills.

"Oh, I suppose so." Arthur said and tugged them off, revealing pale, slender fingers with clean cut nails and really nice hands, or so Alfred thought, thinking himself to be creepy since he really should stop thinking everything Arthur did was beautiful or nice or hot. He felt a little ashamed that his own fingers were shorter and his palms bigger, and he bit his nails as a nervous habit, he even kept liquorice in his pocket while flying to stop him from biting.

"You hardly ever take your gloves off anymore..." Alfred found himself saying quietly, since both of them knew the reason for this was that they hardly had any time when they weren't working. Especially Arthur.

"Yes, well..." Arthur trailed off and kept his hands in his lap and his- beautiful, damn it, Alfred should stop thinking things like that, it's getting real creepy real fast- eyes trained on the piano, the place where there would be sheet music.

"I can play Cole Porter by heart." Alfred started in a more happy tone with his usual loud voice.

"You drank too much with him during the twenties." Arthur remarked with a small laugh.

"True."Alfred replied, enjoying the fact that '_he made Arthur laugh, Oh my God!'_, "And _you_ spent too much time drinking in general. And other things that Francis still does today."

Arthur smiled a little at the innuendo, Alfred was prude in that sight. His face seemed exhausted, his smile tired and strained. Alfred didn't like seeing him like that- Thin, tired, and so damn _exhausted_ of the war, of everything.

"Well, it was after the war. And you were the worst out of all of us. Remember? 'Roaring twenties capital- New York'. Or were you really drunk the whole time that you can't remember it?"

Arthur smirked, and Alfred was blushing because their faces were really close because the chair was _really_ small.

"Yeah, okay, I was drunk. Prohibition _sucked_, man!" Alfred said in a breathy laugh.

"I remember when I visited you and I found you in a closet in the White House drinking shoe shiner." Arthur said with a slight smile, and Alfred laughed along.

"Fun times. The thirties weren't that fun." Alfred suddenly grew very sad at the remembrance of the Great Depression, and his smile fell a little.

"Yes. For many reasons." Arthur also trailed his eyes down and had that same tired facial expression. Alfred knew it was because the thirties also meant 1939.

After a silence, Alfred clapped his hands on his thighs which surprised Arthur and made him jump and jolt his head up to look at Alfred.

"Come on, Artie, let's make some tunes!" Alfred said

"Tunes?" Arthur said with a raised eyebrows and the ghost of a smile on his face.

"Yeah." Alfred said quietly, which surprised Arthur since he was usually so loud. He was looking directly into Arthur's eyes which made him blush because his eyes were a very pretty blue and his glasses seemed to brighten them.

Alfred slowly laid his hands on the piano and started to play the opening, which Arthur found very beautiful, probably because it was Alfred playing it.

"You... Do... Something to me..." Alfred had a nice voice, Arthur thought, but he couldn't really sing well. Instead he opted for speaking them softly, which suited him very well, and Arthur unconsciously leant towards Alfred shoulder a little.

"Something that simply mystifies me!" Alfred said leaning his head up and smiling widely, singing a little louder. Arthur grinned a little too, but simply because he was making a fool out of himself! Not because it was charming and, lord, he looks so handsome, and that dumb lopsided grin and that stupid tilted hat on that stupid shiny, glowing, beautiful hair, falling on that stupidly beautiful face, oh God-

"Tell me, why should it be?" Alfred comically lowered his voice a little, at which point Arthur may have laughed out loud. Alfred's grin seemed to widen more, if that was even possible, when he saw Arthur's reaction. Alfred thought he had a real nice smile.

"You have the power to hypno-tise me! Let me live 'neath your spell. Do, do that voodoo that you do so well." Alfred continued to sing, his arm movements calming, and his voice stopped sounding ridiculous and more relaxed, but still positive and bright and so damn happy and _cheerful_. Arthur sucked in a breath at the sight of Alfred this calm this close to him. He lowered his eyes, and gathered enough courage to rest his head on Alfred's shoulder.

He did it and he felt panicky and slightly ill because his heart was beating fast and he must have been blushing like a virgin _('This is ridiculous, I'm a fucking Empire, oh my God') _but he still though '_Yes, this is fine, more than fine, I want this every single day forever' _which he thought was very eloquent.

It was a lot more comfortable than it should have been, since Alfred's bomber jacket was dirty and smelled of plane oil and sweat and _Alfred_. Alfred grinned down at him, which Arthur missed, since his eyes were transfixed on the piano and Alfred's hands, out of sheer embarrassment.

Alfred continued singing softer, and the whole situation seemed more private and reserved.

"For you, do something to me, that nobody else can do. Let me live 'neath your spell. Do, do that voodoo that you do so well." Alfred was staring down at Arthur, who noticed his glance and lifted his head to stare into Alfred's eyes who trained exactly on Arthur, and the only thing going to Arthur's brain at this moment was _'Oh my God he's looking at me fuck fuck fuck fuck-'_

"For you... Do... Something to me..." Alfred trailed off and stopped playing. Arthur's expression must have been ridiculous, he felt extremely confused and nervous because it looked like Alfred was leaning in to kiss him. Arthur's eyebrows showed confusion, but his lips were relaxed and his eyes seemed a little scared, but all in all Alfred thought it was adorable, hot, and beautiful at the same time, which Alfred also thought was a little creepy of him. His head tilted a little, and Arthur found himself leaning towards him. Alfred bit his lip and continued to lean forward. He looked so... intense was an accurate word. Arthur etched his expression in his brain, because it was him he was looking at like this. Arthur tilted his head also to the side, their lips almost touching and their heartbeats racing so extremely fast that it felt like Alfred's chest was about to explode, his head felt sick, he couldn't really feel his toes or fingers but his stomach was filled with nervousness, which he never really felt-

"U-Uhm, sirs?" A small voice crept from the door and Arthur jumped when Alfred accidently smashed the keys in a disorganised manner.

"Y-Yes, Sergeant Doyle?" Arthur said, standing up and straightening himself whilst Alfred was still busy fixing his glasses, stuttering and blushing.

"W-We were expecting both of you to join the 17 hundred hour meeting? A-And we do need those files, sirs."

Arthur nodded briskly and simply said: "Yes, we will attend as soon as possible. Please excuse our tardiness, Doyle.", who in-turn gave a quick salute and ran away.

After a small pause, Arthur was awkwardly standing next to the piano, not moving, and looked down at his very clean boots. Alfred coughed awkwardly. It was silent after that. Alfred pushed up his glasses and bit his thumb. Arthur knew he only did this when he was nervous, and Arthur's own mind was screaming '_Holy shit__ I almost kissed Alfred F. Jones, America, from sea to fucking shining sea, holy shit, holy _shit' and other colourful words. His thoughts were only interrupted by Alfred pursing his lips, looking up and down, then up again and saying:

"B-Better face the crowd, right? Don't want to keep the fans waiting." With awkward looking forced half smile and raised eyebrows, but his eyes looked- disappointed? Arthur stared quizzically at him, trying to understand him.

"Y-yes. I suppose so." Arthur said quietly after a long pause and time staring at each other. He put on his gloves, then taking the files and papers in his arms, he shifted awkwardly towards the door. Alfred was following him, looking at the floor, trying to breathe again.

"Did you have fun?" Alfred asked after a moment, almost hesitantly.

"Uhm. Yes. Of course. I- I did. Yes, I did." Arthur said, cursing himself for sounding nervous- because he was nervous, really nervous, but Alfred didn't need to know that. He sounded like a school girl.

"Good. 'Cause I wanted you to. It's pretty, it's pretty tough right now. You, you hardly relax anymore, or get out, like _outside_ not dancing, that too, and you don't sleep enough, or eat enough, or, you know, smile and laugh. And, and I- I like it when you smile. And laugh too." Alfred said his words quietly and privately. Arthur stopped breathing for a moment. He froze.

Arthur threw all of his plans of his gentleman's seduction and just followed his intuition, which was to lean forward and up a bit.

He kissed Alfred on the cheek.

It was light and small and very much unlike him.

Alfred look dazed and surprised, keeping his eyes transfixed on a spot on the wall behind Arthur, then he slowly raised his hand and caressed his cheek, a smile spreading on his face. Alfred blushed so much he could pass for a tomato. He looked down at Arthur who scratched a spot on his neck with his eyes on the floor, with a similar blush spread. He shifted those papers again and bit his lip.

"Come on, let's go to that blasted meeting. We're already late. And I hate it when Churchill looks at me with that stare he does whenever you walk into the room." Arthur turned on his heel and starting walking down the hallway in military posture that suited him a bit too well.

"Y-Yeah." Alfred whispered, not moving his stare from Arthur. He still cupped his cheek. He still had a dopey looking smile on his face.

Alfred sighed a dramatic, happy, sigh and jogged a little to catch up with Arthur. He also made a mental note to visit Cole Porter and thank him when he was in the US again.

_((Steinways were sent out to US Army bases in WW2, I watched a Steinway documentary. And I figured Alfred would be the biggest Cole Porter fan out there, the tunes are fun and the lyrics very clever. The title is a Porter song, too.))_

2. "It's Alright With Me"

Arthur's homepage on his internet browser is BBC News, which makes sense because he's the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, so it would have to be the BBC and not Fox News or something. He also likes to know what happens in the world at any time at any place, because, well, he's a nation. Nations should know things like that. Alfred's homepage is Google. He likes how Google sounds, _'it's so totally hilarious, man!'_. But Arthur knows that he has a news app on his phone that blinks or vibrates or something when there's a red news alert. Alfred is serious about things like that. He found out about 7/7 quite late, and practically grovelled to make sure that Arthur wasn't mad that Francis called him before he did. Arthur wasn't mad. He was too busy vomiting over a toilet at Downing Street. He cared more that Alfred apologised for being so late than being late in the first place.

Arthur likes that he sees the news quickly, technology is wonderful in that sense. He also has the app on his phone and the like. What he doesn't like is that sometimes the news aren't so great. Sometimes they're brutally honest, but Arthur was too old to care about things like that, he liked it when people got the point and were brutally honest. Alfred didn't, he was much more naive than Arthur in that sense.

It was a Sunday morning and Arthur was sitting by his kitchen table in unwashed sweatpants and one of Alfred's sweatshirts that he left behind when he last visited, eating a bowl of cereal that he didn't like but Alfred left over so he had too eat it before it went stale, and reading the morning newspaper. The cereal was groggy and too sweet, and he really didn't like it one bit. He felt tired and something else that he rarely felt.

He was lonely.

Alfred had left over a week ago, and he was lonely. Arthur sighed loudly, ran a hand through his messed up bed hair and rested his chin on his palm, his elbow propped on the table. He swallowed thickly. It was 11 a.m. and he wasn't dressed, he hadn't even begun the policy paper for the next parliament sitting or the report for the foreign minister, and a load of other things. He sighed again, fiddled with the cereal spoon, and then decided to chuck the whole thing down the drain. He got up and put the kettle on, feeling like his third cup of tea, even though it was before noon and he was only up for an hour. Arthur sighed again. Skipping the nasty cereal (He didn't really have anything else in the house since he was too tired to do any shopping when he came home at 11 p.m. yesterday) he decided the best first meal of the day was a cigarette. He left the kettle and the kitchen to search for some, usually in his briefcase of his pocket or coat or something. He stomped around his London flat- the small post-Blitz one in 50s galore- for a good ten minutes before he dug out a pack from his desk drawer with a satisfied 'Aha!' to no one in particular, only to find it was empty. He sighed, _again_, and realised he was so desperate for a smoke that he stood up, but on a pair of black jeans and the first shoes he could find- SAS combat boots with dirt from halfway across the globe on them- and went to the Tesco Express around the corner. He stuck his keys and wallet and phone in his pocket and left. It looked like it was about to rain but he didn't really care, it was only a minute's walk around the block anyway.

He left the apartment and stuck his hands in his- or Alfred's, really- sweater, dug his head in it, and sighed. He decided he should really stop sighing, it was getting depressing. With the Tesco in sight, he crossed the street and went inside, taking a basket and heading straight towards the bread aisle. He picked up toast, some marmite, some tea, some whiskey, a pack of cheese, and afterwards headed towards the checkout to ask for some cigarettes. The line wasn't all too long, it was just some older woman insisted that the item was on offer, but the cashier insisted otherwise. Arthur held back a sigh. His phone rang, with its standard ringtone, and he shifted his pathetic half-full basket, its contents screaming _'I live alone and I'm sad and lonely' _to anyone but him, to pick up.

"Hel-" He started, but was immediately interrupted by a shrill and very loud:

"I AM SO PISSED AT YOU RIGHT NOW." Arthur grimaced and held the phone away from his ear. The small woman behind him looked at his with a worried glance. First the contents of the basket and now a psycho on the phone to this poor lonely single man, Arthur assumed the woman probably thought.

After an angry intake of air on the other side of the line, Arthur replied simply with a: "Hello, Alfred. Nice to hear from y-"

"No, oh no," He drew out his 'oh no', which meant that he was, in fact, pissed at Arthur, "Don't you pretend like nothing's going on."

"Alfred, I have no ide-" Arthur was starting to get very agitated very quickly.

"Don't give me that." Alfred replied snappishly.

"I'm sorry?" Arthur questioned. He really had no idea what was going on.

"Oh, pardon me, old man," Alfred was being sarcastic, something he was never good at, "Are you that bad with technology that you didn't hear it yet? Did you misplace your reading glasses, huh?" By now, the woman in front of him was finished, so he stepped out of line, positively fuming by now.

"Alfred. I. Have. No. Idea. What. You. Are. On. About." He said very slowly, his face scrunched up, which made him look so terrifying that the woman previously behind him turning her small son away from him and towards herself.

"Check it yourself, dumbass. And you call me the stupid one." Alfred barked out the last words with a harsh laugh. Arthur's eyes stung when he heard the dial tone. He knew that Alfred knew that he wasn't stupid. Arthur thought Alfred did stupid things, but he wasn't stupid himself. He built a model of Sputnik 1 with car pieces, for fucks sake.

He heard the dial tone in his ear.

Arthur stared at his phone, which he had slowly lowered from his ear. His news alert was blinking. 'US Journalist Beheaded'. Arthur's eyes widened. He read on. The killer, the madman, the terrorist- Alfred's sworn enemy after 9/11- He had a British accent.

Oh God.

_Oh Alfred. _

Arthur bit his lip. He still stood awkwardly next to the cash register. He didn't care. He dialled Alfred's number instead, whispering _'Please pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up'_

He picked up.

"Alfred-" Arthur started in a hurried voice.

"Oh, so_ now_ you call me, huh? Well-"

"Alfred, just shut up, for fucks sake!" Arthur raised his voice and was angry in a way that was very much unlike him. He usually was calm, collected, with biting sarcasm. It was Alfred who lost his temper. Arthur remembered that the last time he was this angry at someone must have been after the Cuban Missile Crisis, when he hit Alfred with a hole puncher after he jokingly said that _'Hey, you didn't get nuked, did ya?'_ and blabbered on and on about his heroic conquests when it was way out of context. Or perhaps it was in Iraq. Or Afghanistan. Or another time when Alfred made dumb decisions on a whim, or his boss did, at least. And Alfred was so very gullible. Loveable, too, but gullible as well.

Alfred was surprisingly quiet.

"I know you're pissed-" Arthur started slowly, he was nervous.

"Well, _no shit_, England."

"Listen to me. Just, just once, alright? Please." Arthur was quieter now. Alfred was silent.

Arthur continued: "He wasn't me. He wasn't British. He wasn't English. He was a terrorist. He, he wasn't from me." Arthur stammered, it was difficult to formulate his thoughts into words, he was normally so full of words, with biting, witty comments, but when it was important, he was empty.

"Nope, that's not gonna do it for me, England." Alfred popped the 'p' in his 'nope'. Arthur found this annoying, although it was usually endearing because it was just so _Alfred_.

"He, he wasn't sent by my government. He didn't do this because of me, because of my parliament, because of my people, Alfred."

Alfred was once again silent.

"No. No, that's not my point. We're, we're allies, England, goddamn it. This shouldn't happen." Alfred spoke slowly and loudly.

Arthur set down his basket in the store and walked outside, he needed fresh air and he didn't want the people inside to see him cry.

"Alfred." Arthur started quietly, "This wasn't my fault."

"Yeah. Yeah it kinda was, Artie." Alfred continued. He still sounded angry, but at least he wasn't shouting.

"Al-"

"This isn't supposed to happen. These- these people should be maniacs, Arthur, they should be insane. They shouldn't be your people. They shouldn't be _you_."

There was a small pause. Arthur started to get more and more angry. Clearly Alfred had no idea what he was talking about. It was all 'good guys' and 'bad guys'.

"Alfred, you are the biggest idiot I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Do you not understand anything at all?" Arthur had a biting tone, his voice was raised, and his eyes stung. He raised his arms dramatically and was positively fuming. He was sure he looked like a mad man.

"That's real comforting, England. Thanks a bunch." Alfred adopted a similar tone.

"No. No, just try and understand, for once, _for fucks sake_, Alfred! This wasn't my fault, nor my governments, nor my peoples, this was all the terror cell's fault and of the bloke himself!" Arthur was shouting.

"He was English! How do you think I feel, England? Knowing that the guy I love owned, raised, brought up, _whatever_, a terrorist who killed a goddamn good _journalist_, one of my journalists, who now is fucking _dead_, Arthur! He's _dead_! He was killed by a terrorist, the bad guys. Well, the bad guys are _you_ now. How do you think that makes me feel?" Alfred was shouting, and Arthur could picture him running around his house, screaming and shouting. What bothered him was that Arthur didn't feel angry, or mad, he felt sad, empty, confused. Especially at the declaration of Alfred that he loved him.

"Al..." Arthur trailed off.

There was a short silence. Rain started to fall from the sky.

"Do you know what I'm doing right now?" Arthur's voice broke and it was almost a whisper.

"I'm in front of a Tesco's, wanting to buy cigarettes that I should have given up, standing in the rain, talking to you on the phone, shouting, crying, and you know why I'm even here in the first place?" Arthur was shaking and tears fell from his eyes.

"I hate your fucking cereal. It's disgusting. I don't have anything else in the house other than your stupid Lucky Charms and I hate them. I hate them." Arthur drew in a shaky breath, then continued. "But they land in my trolley every time I go shopping. And then sits half empty in my kitchen after every time you visit and I have to finish it because otherwise it will go stale. But really-" Arthur trailed off, took a breath, and then said in a shaky voice, "I eat it because I miss you, and I eat fake cheese that I don't like because I miss you, and I'm not entirely sure whether I like that I miss you because I don't miss anyone else, just you, and I never used to miss anyone else, I'm a fucking island, for fucks sake." Arthur sounded pathetic and sad, but nevertheless, he still continued. "And I buy your gross sparkle toothpaste and cereal and everything because I'm used to having you around, just having _you_. After 70 years, Al, I still buy your toothpaste and cheese and cereal. It still lands in my trolley, even when you're not going to come over for some time. And I still miss you. I always will miss you. So, so please understand that the man, he wasn't me, or mine, or anything like that. Just, please. He wasn't me. He wasn't mine, Al. Understand, please, please don't shut me out or hate me- Because I don't want to _not_ miss you ever."

He drew in a shaky breath, then let it out and started sobbing, on the street, in the rain, all alone in London, in front of a Tesco next to a pile of bin bags. He raised his hand to cover his face.

"Arthur..." Alfred started quietly, which was very much unlike him, "I- I know. I really am the biggest idiot. Ever. I miss you, too, and I always did, and I always will, okay? As long as you let me, I'll miss you." Alfred's voice was breaking, and Arthur knew that he was most likely crying himself.

"I don't think I'll ever stop allowing that." Arthur said with a slight small laugh, after a small silence.

"Good. I don't want you to." Alfred said quietly, and after a short pause, he muttered a small "I'm sorry."Alfred hardly ever apologised to anyone. He once spilled coffee over Angela Merkel, even then he didn't really utter those two words.

Arthur took a deep breath. "It's alright, Alfred. I know you're upset."

"Yeah. Yeah I am." Alfred was still depressingly quiet, and Arthur urged to hold him and brush his hair back and kiss his forehead and do other things that were sweet and soft and unlike him.

"You, you know, I met the guy. A while back. At the White House for something important. He was brave. And strong. And I felt real proud, Arthur."

Alfred was crying on the other side. Arthur wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Remember what you said after the towers collapsed, Alfred?" Arthur said quietly. He knew that 9/11 was a touchy subject to Alfred, even after more than ten years.

"Y-Yeah."

"You said that we'll get them, you and me."

"Yeah, yeah I did."

"That still stands, Alfred. We will get them." Arthur said softly.

"You and me." Alfred sounded reassured, but still had a shaky voice.

"You and me, Al." Arthur had a sad smile on his face.

Alfred took a shaky breath, then exhaled, and a silence between them resulted.

"I miss you, Arthur. And, and I love you."

"I love you, too."

Alfred and he continued talking to each other after that for hours, so long that Arthur didn't get any work done the entire day. And when he finally hung up, regrettably so, Arthur noticed that the news said something else entirely that night: 'The killing of a US journalist by an Islamic State militant believed to be from the UK is "an utter betrayal of everything the British people stand for", the foreign secretary has said.'. Arthur smiled and didn't feel like a cigarette afterwards.

_((Again a Cole Porter song. I don't really like this one all too much, love the song, not too proud about the fic. The next one will be better I promise. _

_Also: I felt like Alfred would react to these news this way, since he's naive and hot headed, and, well, America. He's smart but just so Alfred. He overreacts. A lot. And gets confused easily. But hey, he's a man of science. Think Bill Nye.))_

3. Let's Misbehave

"England, you know I'm in love with you, right?" Alfred spun around in his chair, and whispered this dramatically, which Arthur found highly inappropriate. They were sitting in a Security Council session about reforming the Security Council, which, whilst not thrilling, Arthur thought was important. He worked hard on creating the United Nations, the Security Council, everything really, after the war together with the others, so he respected the work they had to do, as did many others. It has been a mere twenty or so years since the war ended, so many were still hard at recovering. Besides Alfred, who was better than ever. Arthur wasn't too bad himself, but his economy wasn't Alfred's.

"America- America, stop spinning, for fucks sake- I am aware of this. I am also aware that you are supposed to be paying attention- no, stop spinning!" Arthur bit his lip to stop laughing, as he viewed the ridiculous sight of Alfred continuing to spin in his chair. He reached out, disregarding his pen and papers, and grabbed the back of the chair to stop Alfred continuing to spin.

Francis eyed them both with raised eyebrows from the podium, were he was currently speaking about finances or something else that Arthur really didn't care about, especially coming from Francis.

"Excuse me, but, perhaps it is better we continue later, no? I declare the session as adjourned, we resume in 15 minutes, bon?"

The rustle of the papers and quick passing of the other nations indicated that Alfred wasn't the only one bored. Arthur did manage to stop him spinning, though.

"Hey, hey, Arthur." Alfred said excitedly, jumbling everything on his small desk and stuffing them in his messy, overcrowded, briefcase.

"Yes, Alfred?" Arthur replied in a bored and monotone tone whilst gathering his things neatly. He adjusted his tie, and turned to face Alfred, who was standing and staring down at him with a look that made Arthur's heart fell too big and his chest too small entirely. He stood up and adjusted Alfred's tie, a red one, which looked nice next to the white shirt and navy blue suit. Arthur thought that his black suit and tie and white shirt looked nice on him, but Alfred really pulled navy off very well. Arthur swallowed thickly.

"You- You know, I've been thinking-" Alfred stuttered in an excited voice that Arthur found endearing.

"That's new." Arthur said shortly.

"Ha, ha, very funny-" Alfred said quickly, then continued, "You know, we've been going out for like twenty years now, right? Since the end of the war?"

"Um, yes, yes, I suppose we have."

"That's long." Alfred grinned brilliantly, then grasped Arthur's hand in both of his, banging his briefcase into Arthur's arm.

"I guess so." Arthur said slowly and swallowed.

"W-Well, I really want to ask you, since we've been going out for so long, and you're my best guy, and I love you a lot, and stuff, and, anyway, I think it'd be really, really, swell if we could-" Alfred sounded nervous and grinned nervously, and Arthur widened his eyes comically.

Neither noticed when the door opened and a sly voice said, "Oh, I interrupt? I do excuse myself, I did not realise the Security Council was securing the love of two lovers." with a ridiculous laugh, that send Arthur's nerves on fire and his blood boiling.

"Now, do not be haste, Arthur, my sweet. It is just time for the meeting." Francis said sweetly, walking over to brush through Alfred's hair, who still stood with Arthur's hand in his, his mouth gaping. He looked incredibly stupid, which Arthur found incredibly adorable.

It was indeed time to continue the meeting, which resulted in Russia vetoing the resolution just because America had agreed, which resulted in both of them nearly having a fist fight. The meeting ended with no real results. As usual.

When the nations all hurried to exit, Alfred grabbed Arthur's shoulder, spinning him around.

"Hey, hey, Arthur-" Alfred said quickly with a large smile on his face.

"Yes, Alfred?" Arthur replied in a sigh and a raised eyebrow.

"Look, about before, what I was trying to tell you is-"

"Ah, he is persistent, no?" Francis said from behind Arthur with a smug expression, who promptly spun around and punched him square in the jaw. Post-incident, Arthur merely said: "Come on, Alfred, let's leave. I'm sick of this." and left Francis to rub at his jaw. After all these years, Arthur had gotten fairly good at punching Francis.

The two hurried out of the crowded buildings, almost all other committees ended at the same time, the New York UN centre was full of humans and nations alike. Alfred walked in front of Arthur, pushing through people to get outside. His apartment was only a short walk away.

"Sorry, love, you were saying?" Arthur asked Alfred as soon as they crossed the street.

"Huh?" Alfred had a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

"You wanted to tell me something before."

"Oh, right, sorry, I was just distracted that you called me 'love'." Alfred said with a smile. He scratched his cheek and looked away.

A quiet "Oh." was Arthur's reply.

"Nah, I like it. It- It's nice." Alfred said quietly.

"Right. Good. So." Arthur stammered like a hormonal teenager and shielded his gaze from Alfred, being too embarrassed to look in his eyes.

"Y-Yeah. Anyway, what I wanted to say was-"

In this moment a fire truck passed both of them with a loud siren, causing Alfred to shriek- A very manly shriek, thank you very much- and Arthur to jump.

"Oof, right, so, what I wanted to tell you is that, Arthur, England, whatever your name is, I really, really, want to ask you to-"

Once again, he was interrupted, this time a car backfired, shocking both of them once more.

"Wow, today is not my day," Alfred trailed off with a laugh and nervously adjusted his shirt by the neck. It caused all of Arthur's willpower not to stare at the skin revealed when he tugged at the shirt. "So, Arthur, I was wondering. We've been together for some time now, but we, ehrm, haven't really done anything yet? So I'm asking whether-"

This time a police car drove passed them with a loud wail, blocking his words once more.

"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT- ARTHUR I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU."

Arthur's mouth and briefcase dropped to the ground.

"I-I." Arthur intelligently stammered out. They were still out on the street in front of Alfred's New York apartment, with Arthur things on the floor. Alfred stood frozen with the most tense and awkward smile Arthur had ever seen on him, save for perhaps the first encounter with the Axis after the war.

"Arthur? You're kinda worrying me..." Alfred asked with a nervous shrug of his shoulders.

"Y-Yes. Well. Right. Alright. Okay."

"Alright what?"

"I want to have sex with you, too. Now. I- I mean not here, but now. Yes." Arthur still hadn't moved. Neither tore their stare from each other's faces.

"Oh. _Oh_. Great! Yeah! Sure!" Alfred said quickly after a prominent pause, and reached down to pick up Arthur's things from the ground.

"Then- Then let's go inside?" Alfred said whilst searching for his keys somewhere in his pocket.

"Yes, let's." Arthur agreed and licked his lips. His eyes trailed down to the ground. Alfred had the keys in the lock, but turned his head slowly to look at Arthur. He stared at him for a while whilst Arthur's thoughts were all directed at Alfred's suggestion.

"Hey, Arthur?" He said quietly, with a hint of nervousness. Arthur spun his head with a 'Mhm?' to look at him.

"This kinda just made my day. Month. Year." The stared at each other for a while after that in silence, because complementing wasn't really their thing, it wasn't _them_.

Arthur raised his arms to loop around Alfred's neck and connected his lips with his with so much force that Alfred toppled slightly backwards, and was eventually pushed against the wall next to his door. Alfred's hands found themselves on Arthur's small of his back and cupping his cheek. Arthur continued to push forward and seemed very eager, with tongue on tongue, which Alfred found himself completely okay with.

"Wow." Alfred said intelligently once they had to pull back for air.

"Yes." Arthur said quietly.

"You sound breathless." Alfred said with a smile while he stroked Arthur's cheek. Both of them had not pulled away, they remained flush and chest to chest.

"Only because you take my breath away." Arthur said with a slight smile, staring directly into Alfred's blue, so _blue_, eyes. Alfred responded with a real laugh, not his obnoxious fake ones.

"That was the worst." Alfred said in a breathy voice. Arthur just snorted. They continued to stare at each other, Alfred with a slight smile, Arthur with a serious face. The silence was beginning to get awkward.

"So, look, I know we don't usually, complement each other and stuff, but- Can I- May I- You know-"

"No, I don't. Stop rambling, Alfred."

"Right. Can- Can I compliment you?"

"What?"

Alfred sucked in a breath.

"Can I compliment you?"

Arthur and Alfred stared at each other.

"Alfred, you're over two hundred years old, I'm sure you're capable of it." Arthur said with a slight laugh.

"Yeah, I wouldn't be so sure about that, you know I'm not good with words."

"I do."

"Yeah."

Another silence ensured, with both Arthur and Alfred still in close embrace.

"I think you're hot." Alfred said with a cocky smile that Arthur thought was too attractive for him to look at.

"Thank you very much." Arthur said a little too quickly.

"You have no idea what that means-" Alfred said with a serious face.

"No." Arthur said again quickly, cutting Alfred's ramblings.

"It means you're pretty, you know, like- like attractive." Alfred said, drawing his words out, raising his eyebrows and looking up at the ceiling, probably embarrassed, "Beautiful." He murmured the last word and blushed horribly.

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"Right."

Another silence.

"I think you're hot, Alfred." Arthur said in a straight-forward way that was both at the same time expected from him and completely surprising.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Wow." Alfred said dumbly and slowly, with a dopey expression that almost seemed love-struck, but Arthur didn't want to get too hasty or forward with assuming things like this, they were still very new to this, so Arthur had to be chaste and gentle, especially since Alfred was rather prude in a way, he was so very young.

"Let's have sex."

Close enough.

"Let's misbehave?" Alfred asked with a ridiculous smirk.

"Did you seriously just make a Cole Porter reference, Alfred?" Arthur asked deadpanned.

"What else did you expect?"

That, Arthur thought, was a good question, and would find himself thinking it for the next decades every morning he woke up next to Alfred.

_((It's set in the beginning of the sixties. I like sixties suits. I can't write sexual times. I'm sorry. I thought it's best to better have none than a really bad one.))_

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